


Thaw

by saiditallbefore



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Backstory, Character Study, Gen, Minor Zorii Bliss/Poe Dameron, Not Poe Dameron: Free Fall Compliant, Worldbuilding, Zorii Bliss-centric, minor zorii bliss/rey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26896600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saiditallbefore/pseuds/saiditallbefore
Summary: The interrogation room was cold, and Zorii wished that she’d been allowed to keep her armor.Or,Zorii Bliss, before the Rebellion and after.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5
Collections: Fic In A Box





	Thaw

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frozensea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frozensea/gifts).



> Thank you to GlassesofJustice for beta reading this for me!

The interrogation room was cold, and Zorii wished that she’d been allowed to keep her armor.

If she could have, she would have propped her feet up on the table. Cops always hated perps who looked like they didn’t care. But there was no chance of that here; Zorii was solidly cuffed to the table at her ankles and wrists.

Zorii tugged a few times, but no dice. The cuffs were solid, and the table was bolted to the floor. She wouldn’t be escaping that way.

She gave up. Better to save her energy, in case an escape opportunity came later. Instead, she examined her temporary prison: a gray box, with cracks and divots in the paint on each surface. The only opening was a single door, with a few narrow vents in it, placed on the wall in front of her.

Finally, long after she’d given up waiting, the door opened and Zorii snapped to attention.

The woman who walked in was dark-skinned, with short-cropped hair. Zorii didn’t recognize the insignia on her uniform, but if the shiny bars on her shoulders indicated her rank, then the woman was probably not someone to be messed with. She was carrying a holopad under one arm.

“Zorii Bliss,” the woman said. 

Zorii tilted her head. Then she remembered that, without her helmet, there was no need to telegraph her expressions; the woman could see her face.

The woman continued, bracing one hand on the table as she leaned over it. “You have led us on quite a chase, Bliss. You—” 

“Sorry, who are you?” Zorii asked. 

The woman rocked back, a sour expression on her face. “Brinna Vane. Captain of the Mistral Defense Force.”

Zorii had never paid attention to politics before she signed on with the Resistance, and after, she had seen no reason to start; there were dozens of gangs and splinter factions in the galaxy, all fighting to take control now that the collapse of the First Order had left a power vacuum. Vane’s Mistral Defense Force could have been any one of them— the only reason Zorii knew the name was because of the Resistance mission she’d been on.

Zorii gestured for Vane to keep talking— or she tried to. The cuffs severely restricted her movement.

Vane looked at her incredulously. “Do you understand that you’re under arrest?”

“What are the charges?” Zorii asked. Might as well get a clue about what in _particular_ the Mistral Defense Force was angry with her about.

“Armed robbery, espionage, spice smuggling, collaborating with the Resistance, and vandalism.” Vane turned on the holopad, projecting a list of Zorii’s crimes in the sector. “You must have started quite young, too.”

Zorii smiled.

* * *

* * *

Zorii loved helping with inventory in the parts shop. It was the one night a week that she was allowed to stay up late, and Aunt Verita let her help out like she was a grown-up. 

The shop never felt more magical to Zorii than it did after dark. There were no customers to interrupt then— although they were rare enough during the day— and she was free to count the odd parts and pieces and to ask Aunt Verita what each of them did. Aunt Verita even knew the answers, sometimes; she had been a pilot, not an engineer, but she knew a fair bit about ships.

Sometimes, if Zorii was lucky and Aunt Verita was in a good mood, she’d hear a story about her parents, who had died when she had been very young. 

That night, Zorii had just finished counting all the stabilizing coils— two dozen, same as last week— when someone knocked on the door heavily. 

No one ever came this late; the store was closed.

Zorii looked up at her aunt, but she was staring at the door, gripping onto the countertop so tightly that her knuckles were turning white.

“Zorii, get behind the counter.” Aunt Verita pressed a blaster pistol into her hand. Zorii’s fingers were so small that it took both hands for her to hold it steady.

“Remember how I showed you?” Aunt Verita asked.

Zorii’s thoughts strayed to early mornings, getting up before sunrise and following her aunt outside the city, of learning to aim and breathe and shoot at a target. She nodded.

“Good.” Aunt Verita ruffled her hair. “Stay quiet, and stay down.”

From her hiding place, Zorii could hear Aunt Verita open the door, and the biting wind from outside came blowing in. She shivered, but she listened to Aunt Verita and stayed quiet.

“Verita Bliss,” a deep voice said. 

“Nendu Cay,” Aunt Verita replied, evenly. “What brings you to my door?”

“I need a pilot for the Llanic run,” Cay said. “Tonight.”

Zorii’s eyes widened. A _smuggler_ , right there in the store! Kijimi had lots of criminals, but Aunt Verita— and Mom and Dad, before they’d died— always tried to keep Zorii away from them. 

“I got a kid here,” Aunt Verita said. “I can’t just up and leave.”

“You think I give a shit, Bliss? You _owe me_.”

His words and his tone of voice were so threatening that Zorii couldn’t help but grip her blaster even tighter.

“Cay—” 

“The _Vortex_. Half an hour. _Be there_.” His tone left no room for argument.

The door slammed shut, and the wind finally stopped blowing into the shop. 

Zorii poked her head above the counter. Aunt Verita was standing in the middle of the shop, eyes closed, pinching the bridge of her nose. Then she took a deep breath, shook herself, and looked at Zorii.

“Get your coat, kid,” Aunt Verita said. “And hang onto that blaster. We’re going on a trip.”

Zorii didn’t get a chance to ask any questions until she’d gotten appropriately bundled up for a night on Kijimi and Aunt Verita was chivvying her down the street.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Not now!” Aunt Verita’s hand tightened on Zorii’s shoulder, and Zorii was too surprised to protest— Aunt Verita rarely snapped at her.

With that, it was back to hurrying across the streets of Kijimi City, fighting against the frozen, biting wind the whole way. They finally arrived at a landing pad, where an old freighter sat. A handful of figures— impossible to distinguish in their heavy cold weather wear— stood in front of it.

“You’re our pilot for this one, Bliss?” one of them called.

“Who’s the kid?” another one asked.

Aunt Verita’s hand tightened on Zorii’s shoulder. “Strap in, boys. I’ll have you on Llanic before you know it.”

Zorii recognized her aunt’s customer service voice, the one full of bluster and bravado, that she used when she was trying to convince someone that their little shop had the best selection of parts in Kijimi City. She wondered what Aunt Verita was trying to convince these people of.

There was no time to dwell. Aunt Verita dragged her into the cockpit and strapped her in, giving her strict instructions not to touch anything. Zorii was too wide-eyed to even think about it; she’d never been off-planet before. As they exited the atmosphere, her eyes were glued to the viewscreen, watching as Kijimi grew smaller and smaller in the distance. When they were a safe distance away from the planet, Aunt Verita engaged hyperdrive. The stars and planets surrounding them disappeared into a blur.

Aunt Verita turned to Zorii, her face inscrutable. “So. I bet you have some questions.”

Zorii nodded. It seemed clear that her aunt was part of some kind of smuggling operation, but what kind? For how long? Had Zorii’s parents been part of it?

Zorii had so many questions; they all seemed to get caught in her throat.

“I’m a spice runner,” Aunt Verita said. “Or I was.”

The spice runners were one of the most dangerous gangs on Kijimi; even Zorii knew that. Back when the Empire collapsed, when Zorii was a baby, the spice runners of Kijimi had made a deal with the spice miners, and had controlled the trade ever since.

Aunt Verita was no pushover— she couldn’t be, or customers and creditors would walk all over her— but she didn’t seem scary enough to be a spice runner. 

Then she thought of something. “If you’re not a spice runner anymore, then how come you’re here?”

Aunt Verita pursed her lips, looking toward the viewscreen. “Zorii, your parents— Your parents were spice runners, too. It’s how they met.”

Zorii’s memories of her parents were faint. They had owned a small cargo ship, and they’d died when they’d gotten caught in the crossfire of a battle between the New Republic and remnants of the Empire. After that, Zorii had gone to live with her father’s sister. 

It was surprising to find out that they were spice runners, but it didn’t unbalance her in the same way that finding out about Aunt Verita did.

“They still owed debts on their ship,” Aunt Verita continued, very carefully. “I couldn’t pay them off, and I wanted to step back so I could look after you properly. Cay paid off the debts, and in return I promised him that I would come back whenever he needed me. Do you understand?”

Zorii nodded solemnly. _Careful who you end up in debt to_ — that was one of the lessons people learned early on Kijimi. Or else they didn’t, and they had a story like Aunt Verita’s, or worse. Sometimes much worse.

Aunt Verita smiled, and ruffled Zorii’s hair. “You’re a good kid. Now get some sleep. I’ll wake you up when we leave hyperspace.”

* * *

After that, Aunt Verita didn't try so hard to keep Zorii out of her work— and good thing, because Cay, the boss of the spice runners, dragged her in more often. Sometimes, Zorii got brought along. No one minded, as long as she kept to the cockpit and kept quiet. 

Just as often, though, Zorii got left behind with one of their neighbors— usually Old Lyssii, the woman who lived three buildings down from Aunt Verita's shop.

It had been two years since Zorii learned about her aunt's other job, and the pattern they'd fallen into was easy, comforting. Zorii had allowed herself to forget how dangerous that spice running was really rumored to be.

And then— Aunt Verita got hurt.

Zorii sat in the cockpit, waiting. She was awakened from her near-doze by the sound of blasterfire outside.

Zorii peered out the viewscreen, trying to see something, anything, but it was no use. Night on this planet was pitch-black. She gripped tightly to her blaster— she always kept it with her when she accompanied Aunt Verita, but she'd never had to use it on another being. 

The ship's doors opened. Zorii whirled around, whipping her long braid behind her. The blaster shook in her hands.

The door to the cockpit slid open. Zorii almost dropped her blaster in relief when she recognized the faces: two other spice runners who often accompanied her aunt on runs. Then she realized that they were holding Aunt Verita between them.

“Aunt Verita!” Zorii exclaimed, running to her aunt’s side. She was pale and slumped over, supported only by the two men. If it weren’t for the subtle— too subtle— rise and fall of her chest, Zorii might have thought she was dead.

“She’ll be okay, kid,” one of the men said, in an unusually soft voice. “Leg might be fucked, though.”

Zorii looked at Aunt Verita’s legs, and saw what she had overlooked before: the unnatural angle Aunt Verita’s leg was at, the blaster burns, the traces of blood. The blood scared Zorii more than she wanted to admit; most blaster injuries were clean.

Worse, there was no infirmary on the _Vortex_.

“What do we—” Zorii began. She was cut off by more blasterfire, right outside the ship.

“We need to get the fuck out of here,” the other man said, dropping Aunt Verita roughly.

“Do I look like a pilot to you?” the first man asked.

Zorii looked at her aunt, growing paler by the minute. She needed the kind of medical attention they could only get back on Kijimi— if they could even afford it. And Zorii had watched her aunt fly this ship dozens of times. 

“I can do it,” she said, and hated how her voice wavered.

Both the spice smugglers turned to her, disbelieving.

“I can do it,” Zorii said again, keeping her voice even. “I’ve watched Aunt Verita. I know how.”

“If you get us killed—”

“I won’t.” As she said it, she hoped it was true.

Zorii pressed the keys for the ignition sequence. The engines roared to life.

She took a deep breath and gripped the control wheel. She hit a few more switches; the ship shuddered, and lifted off.

Something in the hold crashed. Zorii winced. Not the smoothest takeoff in history, that was for sure.

The computer did all the work of plotting their jump through hyperspace. If they needed more than one jump, or if the coordinates were less precise, Zorii might have been more worried— if they were likely to come out in the middle of an asteroid belt or a high-traffic shipping lane or the like, the ship would need a skilled pilot. But none of that was a concern on _this_ route.

As they were hurtling through hyperspace, safe as they could be, Zorii clutched her aunt’s hand. Wished that Kijimi were just a little closer. Hoped that the other smugglers were right, and that Aunt Verita would live.

She was all the family Zorii had left in the world.

It seemed like an eternity before they left hyperspace. All the while, Zorii watched Aunt Verita’s chest rise and fall, holding onto hope with each breath.

When they exited hyperspace, Kijimi was within sight. Zorii steered them towards the pale blue planet, gripping tightly onto the controls. 

She’d never landed a ship before. But she knew from watching Aunt Verita that it was tricky: entering the atmosphere, steering toward Kijimi City, landing on a flat surface on the outskirts of the city. Making it worse, the city was on top of Mount Izukika— if Zorii miscalculated too far, the whole ship could end up a frozen wreck, in the surrounding mountains. She’d seen it happen before. The terrain was one of the reasons there were so many smugglers on the planet.

Kijimi City had a spaceport, but it was controlled by a rival gang. The comm was silent: no call for her to give the ship’s name, or its business. 

No one on Kijimi cared about that. The Empire had overlooked them, and the New Republic was fixing to do the same.

The ship shook as Zorii steered it through the atmosphere. That never happened when Aunt Verita was piloting, but Zorii supposed that she’d had much more practice.

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” one of the men yelled at her.

Zorii lifted her chin, hoping she looked more confident than she felt. “Of course!”

She drew nearer and nearer to Kijimi City. Normally, Zorii loved this part of the journey: watching the city through the viewscreen as it grew in size, from far enough away that it looked shining and clean, rather than gritty and old and tired. Normally, she loved to spot the old, abandoned temples that dotted the entire planet, and wonder how long it would be before they all crumbled into oblivion. But she couldn’t concentrate on the view this time. 

The computer beeped incessantly at her, guiding her towards Kijimi City. Zorii held tight to the control wheel as they approached the mountains, carefully lowering their elevation— but not _too_ much.

She realized only too late that she was coming in too fast. There was no time to course correct, so she just aimed for the empty lots on the east side of the city— the area where the _Vortex_ was usually docked when Aunt Verita brought Zorii along.

The ship made a sickening noise: shuddering and creaking and snapping. But finally, they were at a standstill.

Zorii hit the sequence to open the doors and lower the ramp. Then she sat for just a moment, attempting to catch her breath. 

Heavy footsteps sounded through the ship. The doors to the cockpit slid open.

“The fuck was that landing, Bliss?”

Zorii whirled around. It was Nendu Cay, the boss of the spice runners. She’d never had to talk to him directly before.

“It was my fault,” Zorii said. “Aunt Verita got hurt.” She looked up— and up, and up (Cay was a tall man)— at Cay. He looked unmoved.

“She needs to see a doctor,” Zorii continued.

“You landed the ship?” Cay asked, his voice softer now.

Zorii nodded. “My aunt—”

“She’ll live,” Cay said. He hadn’t even looked at Aunt Verita. 

Zorii didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything at all. Cay seemed to be sizing her up, or considering something. 

Finally, he smiled. “I’ll call a transport for you and your aunt. Get you two to the medcenter.”

Zorii was so relieved, she didn’t bother to ask what the catch was.

* * *

The catch came two days later, when Cay stopped by the shop. 

Zorii was there, helping Aunt Verita restock— a tricky proposition now, with Aunt Verita’s new leg and crutch.

Maybe if they’d been on a core planet, or if they’d had enough money for what passed for a fancy doctor in Kijimi City, Aunt Verita could have gotten one of the robotic prosthetics that were so common on other planets. But those were difficult to come by on Kijimi. Instead, Aunt Verita’s left leg had been amputated just below the knee and replaced with a simple plasteel prosthetic.

She had some trouble walking, but Zorii was just thankful that her aunt was _alive_. 

The door to the shop was flung open, and Cay stomped in.

Aunt Verita faced him, leaning on her crutch. “Cay. What can I do for you?”

“Your niece crashed my ship,” he said.

“Only a little!” Zorii exclaimed. “And _someone_ had to fly it.”

Aunt Verita inclined her head toward Zorii. “From what I hear, she did alright for a beginner.”

“That doesn’t pay for my repairs,” Cay said. His eyes flicked over Aunt Verita, up and down. “Hope you can still fly with a bum leg.”

Aunt Verita’s mouth tightened. 

Zorii’s heart stopped. She’d already come too close to losing her aunt already, and Cay didn’t care— would never care. 

“I’ll work off the debt,” Zorii said. 

“ _Zorii_ ,” Aunt Verita said sharply.

“You can’t fly worth shit, kid.” Cay crossed his arms.

“No, but I can learn. And I’m small, and I’m quick, and I can shoot. Just watch me.”

Cay laughed, and slapped her on the shoulder. 

* * *

* * *

Vane slammed her hands onto the table, apparently angered by Zorii’s complete disinterest in her. “Do you understand that you are _under arrest_?”

“It’s hardly the first time,” Zorii said.

“Are you taking this seriously at all?”

In one of her rare instances of self-preservation, Zorii decided not to answer that question. 

Vane turned, shaking her head a bit. She huffed out a long breath. Finally she turned back to Zorii and spoke again.

“Our sources say you were spotted with Poe Dameron.” The contempt in Vane’s voice was obvious. The holo changed to show that stupid recruitment poster: Dameron, in front of a vintage A-Wing, grinning like a cocky asshole. “Does the _Resistance_ know what kind of person they’re working with, here?”

* * *

* * *

Poe Dameron leaned up against the doorway of the ship’s mess hall, where Zorii had spread out her weapons. She’d long ago claimed this space for herself— it was one of the few spaces on the ship that hadn’t been gutted to carry cargo.

“Something I can help you with?” he asked, smiling brightly. 

“No,” Zorii answered flatly.

Dameron didn’t take the hint, though. “So do you actually carry all those, or—”

“Sometimes,” Zorii said. It depended on the job. She’d been regularly working with the spice runners for almost ten years now. When things went well, no one needed to draw a single weapon. When things went poorly— well. It was better to be the one with all the weapons.

Dameron stepped further into the room and sat down across the table from Zorii. “So how does this usually go?”

It occurred to Zorii that Dameron was young— maybe even younger than her. And wherever he’d come from, he hadn’t grown up in this life. 

He was _nervous_.

Zorii put down the blaster she’d been polishing. “We land, we pick up the spice, we leave. Anyone shoots at us, we shoot them back. Don’t shoot one of our guys.”

Dameron nodded. “Right, right. Seems simple enough.”

A crackling announcement came over the ship’s old, worn-out comm system. The ship began to descend.

Zorii stood and slapped Dameron on the shoulder. “You’ll figure it out.” She strapped on her variety of blasters and knives and strode out the door. Dameron, still looking unconvinced, followed her.

She stepped out onto the barren landscape of northern Kessel. This part of the planet had been home to mines for decades and the air here was filled here with smoke. Zorii slipped on her air mask. 

“Do I get one of those?” Dameron asked. 

“Get your own,” Zorii told him. 

“Right, right,” Dameron said. “Makes sense.”

The spice shipment was waiting for them, only a few dozen yards away. As usual, it was crated up, so it would be easy to transport. 

Several of the miners stood nearby. Zorii tried not to look too closely at them; the New Republic had outlawed slavery everywhere, including on Kessel, but she was never sure how free these miners actually were. 

It wasn’t any of her business. Her job was to make sure the spice got from one spot to another without getting intercepted. Besides, it wasn’t as if life on Kijimi was really so much better, between the below-freezing temperatures, the warring gangs, and the absence of any functional government.

Sometimes, a rival gang would be waiting for the Spice Runners of Kijimi here, hoping to off them and take over the spice trade. But on this particular occasion, all seemed quiet.

“Grab a crate,” Zorii told Dameron. She grabbed one herself. They looked too big for one person to move on their own, but the magnetic boosters attached to the bottom made them easy to transport.

They brought the crates into the ship and stacked them carefully inside the cargo hold. Someone— not Zorii— paid one of the mine foremen for the goods, and they were off. 

Once they were in the air, Dameron turned to Zorii. “Is that it?” He sounded disappointed.

Zorii shrugged one shoulder. “If you’re lucky.” 

“Huh.”

Zorii brushed past him, intending to head back towards the mess— one of the only rooms on the ship that hadn’t been cleared out for cargo, and one of the few places she’d carved out for herself. The other smugglers mostly left her alone when she was in there.

Except Dameron, apparently.

“So,” he began. “How did you get involved in all of this?”

Zorii raised an eyebrow at him. “You first.”

Dameron grinned. “You ever been to Yavin IV?” 

“No,” Zorii said.

“I don’t recommend it. Not unless you like farming.” He spread his hands. “I want to see the world. To do something, be something.”

“And you joined the _spice runners_?” Zorii asked him, skeptically. There were a hundred thousand ways to see the galaxy, if that was the goal: signing up for work on a pleasure cruise for rich folks, or becoming a world-class podracer, or auditioning for one of those trashy holovid reality shows that Aunt Verita never admitted to watching. Hell, joining the New Republic Defense Fleet would probably get a person out there, wherever ‘there’ was.

Dameron nodded.

“You’re an idiot.” No one joined the spice runners for _adventure_ or any of that shit. Except Poe Dameron, apparently.

“So what about you?” Poe finally asked, when it became clear that Zorii wasn’t going to offer any information.

“I owed Cay money, so I signed up to work for him.”

“Is that common?”

“Common enough.” It was the same story that half or more of the spice runners could tell. At the look on Dameron’s face, Zorii laughed. “You really have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you?”

* * *

Poe Dameron thought he was charming. That was the second worst thing about him. He was everywhere, flashing that grin at people, convincing them to give him tips on how to be a “real” spice runner. He insisted that he was a hotshot pilot, and that he’d shave time off their usual runs if they just gave him a chance in the cockpit.

But the worst thing about him was his naivety about the New Republic. _That_ only came up a few weeks after they first met, when they picked up a broadcast from the Senate. Zorii didn’t care much about galactic politics— they’d never done her any good— but she didn’t bother to change the broadcast. There were worse things to listen to than some Mon Calamari senator nattering on about unity and the importance of the Republic.

She probably wouldn’t have remembered that particular broadcast if it hadn’t been for Dameron, nodding along.

“You believe all this shit?” Zorii asked him.

“You _don’t_?” Dameron sounded surprised. 

Zorii snorted. “It’s not like the Republic’s ever done anything for me.”

“They overthrew the Empire,” Dameron said. “They’ve outlawed slavery, they’ve made the galaxy safer for non-humans, they’ve given everyone a voice in the senate—”

“You weren’t even born when the Empire was in power,” Zorii said. 

“My parents fought in the Battle for Endor,” Dameron snapped, then closed his mouth tightly.

“ _That_ explains it,” Zorii said. She could understand why he would want to defend his parents’ legacy, although it made her wonder why he hadn’t just signed up to fly for the New Republic. Still, she spoke a bit more kindly. “Look, maybe the New Republic actually is all that. But on Kijimi, there is no Republic. They forgot about us, same as the Empire. We’ve got to make our own way.”

“So you’re not worried?” Dameron asked.

“About?” Zorii worried about a lot of things, but none of them had anything to do with politics. 

Dameron gestured furiously at the holovid projector, still showing a frozen image of the Mon Calamari senator. “About everything! About— there are people in the Senate who want life to go back to what it was under the Empire! If they get their way—”

“If they get their way, life on Kijimi will stay exactly the same,” Zorii said firmly. She turned off the holovid projector. “You’re a spice runner now. Stop worrying so much.”

* * *

Zorii tried not to laugh at Poe’s face as they stepped out of the ship and into the frigid air of Kijimi.

“I thought it was supposed to be spring in this hemisphere,” he said, rubbing his hands together.

“It is,” Zorii said. “Welcome to Kijimi.”

Poe was about to reply, but Zorii spotted Cay approaching them out of the corner of her eye and elbowed Dameron sharply. 

“I hear you’re a pilot,” Cay said. 

“Yeah,” Poe said, straighting up and squaring his shoulders. “Yeah, that’s me. Poe Dameron, best pilot you’re ever going to meet. I—”

“I have found myself short of a pilot,” Cay said. “You’ll be flying the _Icewave_ to Ossia tonight. Bliss will join you.”

“I— yeah. Ossia, got it. Can do,” Poe said.

“We’ve got it, boss,” Zorii said, before dragging Poe away. Once they were out of Cay’s earshot she turned to Poe. “You’ve got to watch it, Dameron. Cay’s not going to forgive you if you fuck this up for him.”

“Are you _worried_ about me?” Poe asked, a grin beginning to creep across his face.

“I’m telling you that the reason Cay is short a pilot is because the last one probably crossed him.” 

“He’s that dangerous?”

Zorii looked away from him. “Of course he’s dangerous.” There was no way to become the head of an organization like the Spice Runners of Kijimi unless you were a very dangerous individual. But Nendu Cay was more than dangerous— he was ruthless and exploitative. Zorii’s work had kept herself and her aunt fed and clothed and housed, but little more; Cay was the one who profited off of their work.

The silence hung heavy between them for a few minutes. Poe, of course, was the one who broke it.

“So,” he said, “What is there to do on Kijimi?”

Zorii eyed Poe for a moment. Then she said, “Come on. There’s someone you should probably meet.”

She led Poe through the icy warrens of Kijimi City. Used to these streets as she was, Zorii was surefooted, but Poe nearly slipped a few times. The wind howled around them, rushing down the street between the thick stone buildings. Finally, Zorii led him down a set of stairs and through a thick door, into a small shop.

Droid parts were scattered all over the floors and the workbenches, and some were hanging on the walls. It was dimly lit, except for the intermittent flashing of a blowtorch. Zorii could just make out the sound of someone muttering in Anzellan.

“Babu!” Zorii called. “You around here?”

The blowtorch went dark. “Zorii! Zorii Bliss!” 

Zorii weaved through the maze of droid parts, Poe right behind her. Finally, she spotted the tiny Anzellan standing on top of a workbench. 

“Zorii!” Babu said. “Who did Zorii bring to meet Babu today?”

“This is Poe Dameron,” Zorii said. “He’s a new member of the crew. Dameron, this is Babu Frik, best droidsmith you’re ever going to meet. He does work for the crew when we need it.”

“Yes, yes,” Babu said. “There is no one better than Babu.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dameron said. He picked up the faceplate of an ancient B1, flipping it over. “I didn’t know that the spice runners used droids at all.”

“Not often,” Zorii said.

“Not enough!” Babu interjected. This was an old point of contention.

Zorii hid a laugh. “Most of the droids belong to Cay, but sometimes we scavenge one and Babu fixes it up for us.”

“And then it goes to Cay?” Poe asked.

“You catch on fast.” 

Poe drummed his fingers on the workbench. “And everyone just...lets him?”

Babu clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

Zorii looked at him sharply. “What are we supposed to do, Dameron? Maybe you can just walk away whenever you want, but this is our _lives_.”

“I didn’t mean—” Poe began.

“You didn’t _think_ ,” Zorii said. “I trust Babu, but if you’d said that in front of someone else…”

Babu held his hands up in the air. “Babu heard nothing.”

Poe looked stricken. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean— Cay just seems like an asshole, that’s all.”

Zorii huffed a small laugh. He wasn’t wrong. But what was there to be done about it?

* * *

Poe hadn’t been lying— he _was_ a good pilot. Zorii could usually manage in a pinch these days, though she still wasn’t very good. Most of the pilots for the spice runners were decent, but none measured up to Aunt Verita in her prime.

Poe Dameron blew them all right out of the atmosphere. 

Even in the refitted, Empire-era freighter they were saddled with, Poe flew like the ship was part of him. There was none of the jerking or shuddering that Zorii associated with these old rustbuckets; it flew as smoothly as she imagined it must have when it was brand-new.

Once they were in hyperspace, Poe grinned at her, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Not bad, huh?”

“Don’t look so smug,” Zorii said.

Poe laughed. They flew through hyperspace, quietly, for a few more minutes. Then he asked, “So we’re just dropping the spice?”

“We get payment first,” Zorii said. “Cay knows how much it is, so don’t even think about skimming off the top, or he’ll shoot you and dump your body off the side of the mountain.”

Poe raised his eyebrows. “I take it that’s happened before?”

“Like you would not believe,” Zorii said. It was gruesome, but effective. Still, it was better than dumping someone off the side of the mountain _without_ shooting them first, as some gangs were rumored to do. “So we get the credits, we drop the spice, we leave. If anyone shoots at us—”

“Shoot them back,” Poe finished. “I get the idea.”

Zorii nodded sharply. She fiddled with her knife a little, flipping it back and forth. Then she said, “I thought about what you said.”

Poe looked confused, so she added, “About Cay.”

“What about him?” 

“He’s an asshole,” Zorii said. “And he’s— he’s kind of shit at being in charge. We’d be better off without him, but he’s got all the power and the money and the— the respect. He was one of the ones who negotiated with the Kessel miners and set up this route when the Empire started to fall apart.”

Poe drummed his fingers on the control wheel. “But if someone else were in charge, everyone in the spice runners might be better off.”

“Yeah, sure,” Zorii said.

“What would _you_ do?” Poe finally asked. “If _you_ were in charge?”

“Me?”

“You’ve been a spice runner as long as anyone, from what I hear.”

That was true. Most folks didn’t start out as young as Zorii, and by the time they’d put in the years she had, they’d either died— like her parents— or been forcibly retired by their injuries— like Aunt Verita. A few very lucky people might be able to take what little money they were able to save up and leave— but no one really left the Spice Runners of Kijimi, not unless they got off-planet. 

Zorii was practically a veteran.

She thought about the house Cay lived in— the closest thing to luxury one could find in Kijimi City. She thought about the ancient ships they used, and how close they’d come to failing and leaving her and the rest of her crew stranded on half a dozen different runs. About Aunt Verita, and her ruined leg, and how deeply in debt she’d been to Cay.

“I don’t know,” Zorii said. “But I’d like to think that I’d be better.”

* * *

Zorii and Poe kissed, once. 

At the time, it seemed inevitable. Natural.

Poe Dameron was the closest thing to a friend she’d ever had. She hadn’t known many children when she was young: too many of them were associated with what she now knew were rival gangs, and while she’d had a few acquaintances during the years of compulsory education she’d attended, Zorii had never felt close to any of them. 

Later, Zorii had become a spice runner, and been surrounded by adults. Few of them were unkind to her, and they came to respect her as she grew older, but they weren’t her _friends_. They couldn’t be.

Poe was close to her in age, and he was a fellow spice runner. With him, it was different.

Things didn’t come to a head until the two of them got in a firefight with a rival gang. They were once again on Kessel, but this time, they were intercepted by the Ninth Circle, who were trying to wrest away control of the spice trade.

As Poe and Zorii hauled the crates of spice toward their ship, a blaster bolt grazed Zorii’s shoulder. 

“Get down!” she called, ducking behind the crate of spice.

She didn’t look to see if Poe had followed her lead. She leaned out from behind the crate and fired off a few shots with the blaster in the direction the shots had come from. 

Zorii only barely glimpsed the figures shooting at them: only that they were wearing dark clothing, with a white skull on them— the symbol of the Ninth Circle. Before they could shoot her again, Zorii ducked behind the crates. Beside her, Poe mirrored her actions.

“There’s too many of them!” Poe said. 

“I’m not leaving the spice!” Zorii said, firing off a few more shots. She’d never be able to face Cay if she failed that badly. He’d never let her _live_ if she failed that badly.

Poe didn’t reply, but he kept firing his blaster. 

Another one of the shooters fell. There was a pause in their attack, and Zorii grabbed her crates. “Come on!”

They continued like that: running, ducking behind the crates they were hauling, and shooting their attackers, picking them off one by one. 

Finally, they made it to the ship. They ran up the ramp, desperately trying to avoid the blaster bolts. As they collapsed into the cargo hold, the crates in front of them, Zorii yelled at the pilot— not Poe, for once.

“Go, go, go!” 

The ramp was pulled up and the doors were closed. The engines ignited, and the ship shook as it took off.

Zorii collapsed against Poe, and laughed, exhilarated. When she turned, he was right there, grinning. On impulse, she reached for him, pulling him to her, kissing him. His lips were chapped, and he tasted like sweat and adrenaline. 

It was pleasant. But it was also strange. 

Zorii pulled away from Poe. 

“That was weird,” he said.

“It was,” she agreed. Zorii thought she might like to try it again, but with someone else. 

“Friends?” Poe held out a hand.

Zorii shook it. “Friends.” 

* * *

Zorii had never been summoned to Cay’s residence before. She’d never _wanted_ to be; ideally, she would have never come to his attention except when he sent her on a job.

As she trudged up the icy street, pulling her coat tight around herself, she hoped that it was nothing, but knew that was unlikely. Her twin blasters hung comfortingly at her hips.

Cay had made his home in one of the old temples that dotted Kijimi, long since abandoned. This one was small, compared to many others Zorii had seen when flying over the planet, but it had not yet begun to crumble into a ruin. It was gaudily decorated, in bright colors that stood out garishly against the ice and snow.

The door swung open before Zorii even knocked on it. 

“Come in, Bliss,” Cay said. He was smiling. The expression looked unnatural on him, like he was showing too many teeth.

Zorii followed him inside, squinting her eyes against the bright lights and gaudy colors. Cay led her deeper into the residence, through twisting corridors, until they finally came to an oversized set of doors, twice as tall as Cay was. They were obviously new, and made just for the space. She couldn’t help but wonder, briefly, how much that must have cost.

And then Cay threw the doors open, and there was no more time to wonder. 

Zorii was looking in on a large chamber— probably some kind of center of worship back when this was a temple. It was round, with faded tapestries still hanging on walls that had been scarred by blasterfire, and a ceiling that was so high above their heads that Zorii couldn’t imagine how Cay kept it heated.

But she took all of this in within moments, because there, in the center, was Poe Dameron. He’d been tied up and gagged, and one of Cay’s favorite enforcers was pointing a blaster at Poe’s head. 

Despite all of this, Poe still had his chin jutted out defiantly, arrogantly.

“What is this?” Zorii asked, hoping her voice stayed even.

“Did you _know_ he was a spy?” Cay asked.

Zorii fought a laugh. Poe, a _spy_? Only if one of the other gangs had been trying to get him killed. “You can’t be serious,” she said.

The look on Cay’s face proved that he was, in fact, deadly serious. 

“I caught him sending information on our routes to an unknown address,” Cay said. 

The breath caught in Zorii’s throat. The routes that had been scouted out, that they used to avoid the New Republic and any of the splinter factions it was currently fighting or allied with. If these failed, Spice Runners of Kijimi would struggle to do their business.

If this was true— if it was true, then Poe was a spy. He had betrayed them.

Zorii studied his face, hoping for a hint, but his expression was unreadable.

But Cay was still watching her, waiting for a reaction.

“I had no idea,” she said. “I didn’t know.”

Cay studied her for a moment longer, then placed a blaster in her hand. He gestured at the enforcer, who stepped back.

Before he even spoke, Zorii understood what was about to happen. 

“You shoot him for me,” Cay said.

The blaster was steady in her hand. Of course it was; Zorii’s hand hadn’t shook while holding a blaster since she’d been a child.

She aimed. 

She pulled the trigger.

Cay’s enforcer fell down, dead. 

Zorii spun around and aimed at Cay. For the first time since she’d known him, he looked startled.

“Bliss—” he began.

She shot him.

Cay crumpled to the ground, dead. Zorii shot him again, just to be sure.

She walked across the room to Poe, still bound and gagged, and freed him from the ropes with the vibroknife strapped to her thigh.

“Thank you—” he began.

“Is it true?” Zorii demanded.

He hesitated, just a moment too long. “It’s not like you—”

Zorii punched him across the jaw. “You fucking rat!”

Poe scrambled backward, holding his hands up disarmingly. “I’m working for the Resistance!”

“The _what_?” That didn’t sound like a gang name.

“The Resistance,” Poe repeated. “It’s not— the New Republic is in trouble. There are factions, parts of the old Empire, working within the Senate. The whole government. The galaxy could be on the edge of another civil war.”

He’d double-crossed them for the _government_. “How high-minded of you,” Zorii sneered. 

Poe looked at her despairingly. “The future of the galaxy could be at stake. How can you not _care_?”

“Look around!” Zorii cried. “Do you think your Republic cares about Kijimi?”

Poe glanced away. “I—”

“I don’t care,” Zorii said, cutting him off. “Get out. I don’t ever want to see you on Kijimi again.”

“Zorii—” he began again.

She pointed her blaster at him, not knowing whether she would have it within her to pull the trigger or not. “I mean it, Dameron.”

Poe stood, slowly. He walked to the doorway, and paused.

“Good luck, Zorii.”

It wasn’t until he was finally gone that Zorii let herself cry.

* * *

* * *

Vane closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. Zorii covertly tested her cuffs again.

“You’re not getting out of those,” Vane said. “I know you think you’re some kind of escape artist—”

“I think _what_?” Zorii responded, dumbfounded. As far as she’d been aware, that had never been part of her skill set.

“You survived the Kijimi Cataclysm,” Vane said.

For the first time in their conversation, Zorii looked away. “Yeah,” she said. “I did.”

* * *

* * *

Later, Zorii would feel like she should have _known_. 

The only home she’d ever known had been destroyed— like Alderaan, like Hosnian Prime— and was nothing more than a black hole. 

Kijimi was gone, with all of its mountains and ruined temples. The rest of the spice runners— the ones who hadn’t been on this ship with her— were all gone. 

Aunt Verita was gone. Zorii couldn’t help but wonder— if she’d asked her aunt to come with her again, to escape the First Order, would she still be alive? 

And for the first time, Zorii felt the need to _do_ something. To make the First Order pay. To make sure that they would never do this to anyone else.

This was what led her to join the Resistance fleet at Exegol. She was certain that Dameron and some of his comrades would have preferred that she join because she had suddenly come to believe in the Resistance and whatever it stood for, but the truth was that she wanted revenge. 

Even better, she got it.

* * *

The Sith were defeated at Exegol, and so was the immense fleet that had been lying in wait there. But just like the supporters of the Empire had fled and scattered after the battle of Endor, only to give rise to the First Order, there were a number of First Order soldiers and supporters still hanging on in scattered pockets. None of the battles were as large or as attention-grabbing as the Battle of Exegol; they were skirmishes, here and there.

But none of this was any of Zorii’s business. Though the reporting structure in the Resistance was loose, she was still nowhere near the top. 

Unfortunately, this meant that one of the people she took orders from now was Commander Poe Dameron. He was friendly enough— Zorii doubted he could truly be _un_ friendly— but things between them were still strained, and Zorii avoided him as much as possible. 

Instead, she threw herself into the jobs the Resistance gave her. It was easier not to think about how her life had been so abruptly thrown upside down if she was busy shooting at First Order assholes. It was easier not to miss Kijimi or Aunt Verita if she stayed on the move, travelling as much as she ever had for the spice runners. 

It was good to have a mission. 

* * *

Zorii had wandered a short way away from the Resistance camp, into the jungles of Ajan Kloss. She’d never thought that she would feel homesick for the ice or the biting wind of Kijimi, but here, enveloped by the humidity and surrounded by bugs that kept trying to get into her armor, Zorii desperately wanted to go back home.

“Zorii,” a familiar voice said.

“Dameron,” Zorii said. She hoped this wasn’t going to be another attempt at bonding.

“We’ve got a job coming up. It could use your smuggling expertise.” Poe smiled at her. In the years since they’d first met, it seemed that he’d turned charm into an art form.

Zorii refused to let herself be charmed. “What kind of job?’

Poe slouched casually against a tree, crossing his arms. “Mistral’s navy has enacted a blockade, and now a couple of our allies are stranded. We need to get them out.”

“Who else is going?” Most of the Resistance had welcomed Zorii with open— or mostly open— arms. There were too few of them to care about anyone else’s past, and Zorii was hardly the first scoundrel to join up. Still, there were some people she got along with better than others.

“Rey’s going,” Poe offered. 

That was more appealing than Zorii would admit— and she was sure that Poe knew it. Rey was intriguing. 

Zorii sighed, a bit performatively. “Yeah, fine.”

“And I’ll be piloting,” Poe added.

Zorii paused. “I thought Rey usually piloted?”

Poe shook his head. “We need her doing her Jedi stuff.” He waved a hand in the air, as if to illustrate.

Zorii didn’t know anything about the Force or the Jedi, except what she’d heard in rumors and legends. But she did know that if it came down to a fight, she wanted Rey and her lightsaber at her side.

* * *

Their ship for the mission was the _Lasting Sky_ , a nondescript freighter that had been retrofitted with hidden compartments for smuggling long before its owner had joined up with the Resistance. 

Zorii stood in the cockpit, in full armor, watching as Poe flew the ship out of the atmosphere. Rey sat in the copilot’s seat, her face alight with delight, and Finn stood behind her, holding tightly to the back of her seat. From elsewhere in the cockpit, Zorii could hear the beeping of Poe’s little round droid, and she tried to ignore it; it made her think too much about the people she’d lost on Kijimi.

Finally, they entered hyperspace, and Poe sat back. “Alright,” he said. “We’ve got a few hours before we reach the blockade.”

“I hope you have a plan for getting through that,” Zorii said. Poe might be a hotshot pilot, but in Zorii’s experience, it took more than some fancy flying to get past a blockade.

Poe grinned. “Have you ever known me not to have a plan?” 

“Don’t answer that,” Finn said. Poe reached up, smacking Finn’s arm playfully. Rey laughed.

Zorii was starting to feel a bit out of her depth. She’d never had this kind of camaraderie with any of her crew, except for the short time she’d worked with Poe. She turned on her heel and walked toward the door. As it slid open, she told the others, “I’ll be out here when you need me.”

The _Lasting Sky_ wasn’t huge, but it was just large enough for Zorii to wander down the corridors. She found her way to the cargo hold, which was almost entirely empty.

Zorii sat down on an old crate, popped her visor open, and, for lack of anything better to do, began going over her twin blaster pistols, cleaning them and checking them for any damage. She knew perfectly well that the blasters were in working order, but she’d rather be safe than sorry.

The doors to the cargo hold slid open again. Zorii glanced up, and saw Rey. 

“Hey,” Rey said.

“Hey.” Zorii stood. “Did you need to go over more of the plan?”

“The plan that we definitely have?” Rey asked, a smile playing around her lips.

Zorii smiled, glad that her helmet hid most of her face. 

Rey crossed the room and stood next to Zorii, leaning across the wall. “I’m glad you’re with us,” she said.

“Dameron said you needed a smuggler,” Zorii replied, feeling a bit slow on the uptake.

“No, I meant—” Rey began, ducking her head. “I’m glad about that, too. But I’m glad you’re with the Resistance. That you’re _with us_.”

Zorii was lost for words, but finally she managed to say, “I’m glad, too.”

They sat in quiet for a while. Zorii went back to checking her blasters. She was almost certain that Rey was meditating.

Finally, Zorii broke the silence. “So, what’s with the blockade?” She hadn’t heard that the First Order had pulled together enough resources for something like this, but she didn’t pay a lot of attention.

Rey pursed her lips. “I don’t know all the details. But I guess there was an battle over Mistral a couple years ago and some of the ships that crashed did a lot of damage. And General Organa thought that some people in the government might sympathize with the First Order, so we had some spies embedded.”

“Let me guess,” Zorii said. “One of the spies got caught.” 

Rey nodded. 

Zorii grimaced— and didn’t ask what had happened to the spy who had been caught. 

* * *

Mistral was a marbled blue and white planet, similar in size and color to at least a dozen other planets across the galaxy. It looked familiar to Zorii; she might have dropped spice there on at least one occasion. 

But the planet itself paled in comparison to the blockade: a motley collection of old ships that had been decommissioned by either the Empire or the Rebellion, encircling the planet loosely. It would be impossible to get past them without attracting notice.

A voice crackled across the comm. “This is _The Recourse_ of the Mistrali Navy. State your name and purpose.”

Poe leaned forward, pressing the buttons for the comm. “This is the _Lasting Sky_ , a cargoship currently employed by the Mensix Mining Company. We’re picking up cargo in St Aldives.”

There was a long pause. Zorii clutched tightly onto her blasters, despite knowing that they wouldn’t help her if the blockade ships decided to shoot at them. Then the comm crackled again.

“Proceed, _Sky_ ,” the voice said. 

It was as if the air suddenly rushed back into the cockpit, all at once, the relief was so palpable. Poe hit a few buttons and the ship began descending into the atmosphere. 

* * *

From above, St Aldives was a shining, glimmering city. The buildings stretched up to the sky, with speeders racing around them, like bugs swirling around flowers.

From street level, it was not quite as impressive: it was easier to see the dirt and the grime, the people hurrying along, ignoring one another as much as they could. Zorii had spent precious little time in cities outside her own Kijimi City, but it struck her that most cities must be all alike, at the core.

Beside her, Rey pulled a cloak around herself tightly, the hood keeping her face in shadow. Zorii was glad for her own relative anonymity: if she was known on this planet, it wasn’t as a member of the Resistance. 

Side-by-side, they moved quickly through the shadowy streets toward the coordinates they’d been given. Once or twice, Zorii thought she saw passers-by giving them odd glances, but no one seemed to be following them. 

Finally, they approached a residential building. It was dingy, and a little ramshackle— the kind of disreputable structure that neither one of them would look entirely out of place walking into.

“This one?” Zorii asked.

Rey nodded once, sharply.

The two of them slipped inside and up several flights of stairs. Zorii stepped back, and Rey rapped sharply on the door to a flat.

From the other side of the door, Zorii could hear someone fumbling with a few of the pneumatic locks. The door slid open, just a crack, and then all the way. The room beyond was dark, and Zorii was thankful for the heat vision in her visor. She spotted a handful of beings in the room: two humans, and one Bothan. Their bags were packed— they’d clearly been ready for an evacuation for some time.

Rey let her hood fall. She smiled at the other Resistance members, and Zorii was reminded all over again why everyone was so drawn to her. 

“We’ve got a ship waiting,” Rey said. She began to say something else, but was cut off by an explosion, right outside on the street.

“Someone followed you,” one of the human Resistance members— a woman with short, dark hair, and swirling tattoos on her cheeks— hissed at Rey and Zorii.

“We’re trapped,” Zorii said. If they had been followed, then soldiers would almost surely be waiting for them at the exit.

“No, we’re not.” Rey’s eyes seemed to glimmer in determination, and she stepped forward. She furrowed her brow, apparently concentrating, and then pushed her hand out, against the air.

Suddenly, the wall was no longer there.

“Come on,” Rey said. She stepped out the newly-created hole in the wall, and Zorii wanted to yell at her; a Jedi might be able to survive a jump like that, but what about the rest of them?

But when Zorii ran closer, Rey’s plan became clear: the debris from the wall had been remade into a very loose staircase, held together only by Rey’s willpower.

Zorii looked at the handful of Resistance fighters they had come to evacuate. “Go!” she told them. 

They followed Rey down her hastily-made stairway, as Zorii stood behind, watching. She could just hear footsteps coming up the stairs, toward the flat she was currently sequestered in. She was running out of time.

Just as Zorii stepped toward the hole in the wall, about to follow Rey and the others, half a dozen armed soldiers burst into the room. Zorii dropped flat, ducking below their blasterfire. One or two shots grazed her, but couldn’t harm her through her armor. She unholstered her own twin blasters and shot back at the guards. She hit a few of them, but was quickly overwhelmed. 

And then everything went black.

* * *

When Zorii woke, she’d been stripped of her armor and weapons. She was cuffed by her wrists and ankles to a sturdy table in the middle of a gray room, all alone. It was an interrogation room, obviously.

Zorii tugged at the cuffs on her wrists a little, but they didn’t budge. 

She was under arrest. And if they were smart, Rey, Poe, and Finn would be halfway back to the Resistance by now, with those others they’d just evacuated from Mistral in tow.

There was nothing to do but sit back and wait.

* * *

* * *

“Look, will you just tell me why I’m here?” In some way, asking felt like a concession, but Zorii wanted an answer.

“Have you listened to a single thing I’ve said?” Vane was seething now. Zorii tried to school her face so that Vane couldn’t see how amusing she found it.

“Not really,” Zorii said. She tried to shrug a shoulder casually, but the cuffs prevented her.

Vane snarled at her. “There has been a warrant out for your arrest on Mistral for half a decade, Bliss, just for your spice smuggling. Not just Mistral, either; you’ve got warrants on half the planets in this sector. You’ve been cutting a swathe of destruction across the galaxy since childhood.”

“It’s a talent.” Zorii tried to sound disaffected, like Vane’s words hadn’t struck home.

“And now you’re working with the _Resistance_ ,” Vane said, clearly contemptuous of both the idea and of the Resistance itself. 

“The First Order destroyed my entire planet,” Zorii said, her voice hard. “I want them gone. I want a better galaxy.”

To her surprise, she found that she meant that last part. 

Vane slammed her hands down on the table, but before she could speak, the door behind her burst open. Vane went flying across the room, and crumpled to the floor.

Rey stood in the doorway, uncloaked, a lightsaber in one hand. She looked like a figure straight out of legend. “Zorii?” 

She sounded uncertain, and Zorii realized that Rey had never seen her outside of her armor.

“You took your time.” Zorii tried to sound casual, but she was sure that her relief was palpable. To tell the truth, she hadn’t been confident that anyone would come for her.

“We got a little held up.” The tone of Rey’s voice said that there was a story there, but Zorii didn’t ask quite yet. If they were lucky, there would be time later, when they weren’t in the middle of an escape.

Zorii was suddenly feeling a lot luckier, now that she had a Jedi to back her up.

Rey knelt next to Zorii, and began to cut through her cuffs. 

Poe stuck his head into the interrogation room. “They’ve got more incoming. We’ve gotta go!”

“I’m a _little busy_ ,” Rey said, as she cut through the second of Zorii’s cuffs. Now only her wrist cuffs were left.

“Did you find my armor anywhere?” Zorii asked, at the same time. “Or my blasters?”

Poe shot her a disbelieving look. Zorii made a face back at him. He would have put up a fuss, too, if it were him. Poe rolled his eyes, but he ducked back out of the doorway.

Rey cut through another cuff. Zorii shook out her wrist, letting the feeling completely return.

“I was worried,” Rey said. “When I heard all those shots. And you didn’t follow me.”

“I’m tougher than most people give me credit for,” Zorii said. 

Rey’s hand, sun-kissed and calloused, rested on Zorii’s arm for just a moment, before she went back to cutting through the last cuff. “I know.”

Rey stood, and Zorii stood with her. Again, Zorii wished that she had her armor; she felt naked without it. They stepped out into the hallway together, following the sound of blasterfire until they found Poe, surrounded by dead and unconscious soldiers.

He tossed something at Zorii. “Found your blasters.”

Zorii caught them awkwardly, then strapped the holsters— still attached to the blasters— around her hips. Not her armor, but better than nothing.

She nodded her thanks at Poe. “Let’s get out of here,” she said.


End file.
